Mark sprinted across the foyer, his polished dress shoes sliding on the marble as he threw himself down beside her. His chest heaved with terrifying panic, his dark black dress shirt soaked with cold sweat. He carefully reached down, placing his trembling hands beneath Clowe's shoulders and head. He lifted her gently, pulling her upper body into his lap while trying not to move her injured spine. His hands shook uncontrollably as he cupped her soft, bruised face, staring down into her tear-filled eyes.
Mark: Clowe... Hold on. I got you.
Clowe: It hurts... Mark, I can't breathe...
Mark: Shh, don't talk, my love. Help is coming!
Clowe: She pushed me... Victoria pushed me...
Mark: Just stay with me, please open your eyes!
Tears streamed freely down Mark's face, falling onto Clowe's stained gold satin dress. His jaw clenched tightly as he sobbed, his teeth grinding together in pure anguish. He looked up toward the top of the stairs where his mother was standing. Victoria was hyperventilating, wiping fake tears from her cheeks while holding onto the dark wooden railing. She looked down at the tragedy with a pathetic, dramatic expression, pretending to be a heartbroken mother-in-law who had just witnessed a awful accident.
Victoria: Is she breathing? Oh heavens, she slipped on her dress!
Mark: Call nine-one-one right now! Why are you just standing there?
Victoria: I am calling them now! It was an accident, Mark!
Mark: She didn't just slip! What happened up there, Mom?
Victoria: She was rushing down to see you and lost her footing!
Mark looked back down at Clowe, whose lips were trembling in severe pain. Her hand reached up weakly, her fingers digging into Mark's wrist with desperate strength. She tried to point toward the top landing, where her yellow folder lay scattered, its white papers fluttered all across the upper hallway. Mark noticed the legal documents fluttering in the draft, bearing official red court stamps. His mother was already moving quickly, stepping over the threshold to stomp her heavy heel onto the scattered paperwork, trying to hide them from view.
Clowe: The papers... Mark, look at the papers...
Mark: Don't worry about anything else right now, sweetheart.
Clowe: She stole the inheritance... She took everything...
Mark: I am staying right here. Nobody is going to hurt you.
The sound of distant sirens began to wail through the tall trees outside the mansion gates. Mark wrapped his arms tighter around Clowe, kissing her forehead gently as her body went limp from shock. He could feel her ragged pulse under his fingertips. His grief quickly began to transform into a burning rage as he watched his mother discreetly kick a thick yellow folder beneath a hallway table. Mark realized in that silent, painful second that the woman who raised him was hiding a dark, deadly secret.